Officer, Surgeon...Gentleman!

“I met her, when I was inland. She was stationed nearby and joined several of us for drinks.” He whistled again. “She’s a looker.”

“Yes,” he agreed. Clara was a beautiful woman. On the day they’d met, she’d charmed him with her smile, her intelligence, her inherent toughness that was so in contradiction of her beauty-queen looks. She’d had a passion for medicine that matched his own and had professed to want the same things out of life. For the first time, he’d connected—really connected—with a woman.

For the first time, he’d felt a part of a family.

A wonderful, admirable family that would take on the world to protect each other.

Or to keep from disappointing each other.

Cole had longed for such a family his whole life. To be a part of something so strong.

He and Clara had studied together, worked together, laughed together. On the occasions they’d visited with her family, the Stocktons had welcomed him into their ranks with open arms. During their second year, asking her to marry him had seemed the logical thing to do. Becoming a real, permanent part of the Stockton family had seemed the most desirable thing he could imagine. He’d loved the time spent with them. With Clara. And Amelia.

Especially Amelia, he’d realized too late.

All the Stockton children were close, but Clara and Amelia shared a special bond, more best friends than sisters. Cole had spent as much if not more time with Amelia than he had Clara after Amelia had started medical school. Had gone from treating her as a kid sister to looking at her and seeing a woman who inspired fantasies.

“What happened?” Richard prompted when Cole stayed lost in his thoughts too long.

Cole inwardly sighed, but kept his shoulders square. He’d known coming aboard this ship would open old wounds. Wasn’t that one of the reasons he’d come? To open those wounds so they could finally properly heal? “Clara and I realized we’d made a mistake in becoming engaged and broke things off. I’ve not seen her since.”

Because Clara had completely changed her life plans and signed up to serve as a flight surgeon, going to helicopter flight school rather than a military hospital or aircraft carrier medical unit. They e-mailed on the rare occasion, but even that had grown further and further apart.

Richard’s brows rose. “That would have been, what? Two? Three years ago?”

“Yes.” Two long and torturous years where a single weekend had forever changed the course of his life. Two long and torturous years in which he’d tried to forget the Stocktons. Yet here he was, seeking out the Stockton he couldn’t forget. He glanced around the surgical suite, taking in the neutral tones of the room. Dull gray bulkheads and metal cabinets of sturdy construction. “Tell me, where are the laparoscopic instruments? I’ll put together a laparoscopic appendectomy set to my preferences. Then I want to go through and make sure the staples match the handles and check out the rest of the equipment so I don’t run into any surprises mid-procedure.”

Accurately sensing Cole’s desire to change the subject, the corpsman explained the day-to-day basics in the surgical ward.

Not much different from what he’d expected, even better equipped than some of the sites he’d worked at prior to being deployed. Yet he couldn’t recall his palms sweating and his heart racing at any other new assignment.

He knew the reason why.

The same reason he’d finagled his assignment on board this ship when doing so could cost him everything.

Amelia Stockton.

CHAPTER TWO

LATER that morning, Amelia grimaced at the oozing wound on Corporal Wright’s left inner thigh. “How long has the area looked like this?”

He shrugged his brawny shoulders. “Yesterday the spot was a little red. Today it looks like I got shot and the place festered all to hell.”

The abscess looked nothing like a real gunshot wound, but she didn’t bother explaining that to the eighteen-year-old. She hoped he never had reason to learn otherwise.

She turned to the cabinet that contained the appropriate supplies, pulled out a bottle of one percent Xylocaine, and drew up a syringe full of the numbing agent. “Are you allergic to any medicines?”

“I’m not allergic to anything.” He shook his head, eyeing the syringe with pale-faced dread but trying not to show his dislike of needles. “What are you planning to do, Doc?”

“I’m going to open the area, drain the abscess, then pack the wound with special sterile packing gauze that will stay in the opened area for a few days.”

The corporal swallowed, his gaze lingering on the syringe. “Will it hurt?”

Amelia could laugh at the irony of his question. The men she dealt with had been through so much with their training, could endure great hardships, yet wave a needle and syringe in front of the biggest, baddest of the lot and he just might turn green in the face.

“Just a stick and some burn when the numbing agent is injected. After the medication, you shouldn’t feel a thing,” she explained.

She swabbed the area with an antiseptic solution then stuck the needle bevel up into the raised red area, numbing the overlying skin. Once she’d finished injecting the area, she dropped the used syringe into a sharps container then smiled at her still-pale patient.